For You
by totalmoron
Summary: Basically pwp. Roger dominates Don. Tw for dubcon


"Mr. Draper?" chirped Don's secretary, poking her head through the door. "Mr. Sterling is here to see you."

That's odd, mused Don, pausing from his fervent note-taking to look up in anticipation. He was supposed to go home at 4:30.

Roger Sterling strolled inside momentarily, a paragon of masculine debonair and perfectly coiffed hair. His curls were white-silver and seemed to radiate their own light, a halo distinct from the golden flood of sun coming in from the windows. He looked pensive.

"Draper."

"Sterling," responded Don, playful despite Roger's gravity.

"What the hell is this I'm hearing about the Maxwell account?" the older man fumed, slamming his hand onto the table and jerking Don from his easygoing mood.

Right. Earlier that week Don had pitched an idea to the electric company against Roger's explicit orders to come up with another. They loved it. Obviously.

"It's what businessmen do, Rog," Don replied levelly. "Besides, they loved it."

Roger was silent, simmering. Don tilted his head up to make eye contact, tired green eyes locking with narrowed blue ones. For a moment Roger held his gaze, and Don resisted the urge to break eye contact. Normally Don had no problem asserting his dominance, but Roger was technically his boss, and he knew the older man wasn't one to cave. The intimacy of eye content unsettled Don, initiating a stirring in his stomach equal parts pleasant and uncomfortable. He steeled himself, looked away.

In an instant Roger's lithe frame had sailed, catlike across Don's desk. His chest (but for their shirts) was flush with Don's, his breath hot on Don's face. Don's tie was balled up in his fists, and he kept the remaining fiber taut enough to cut off Don's airway.

"P- plea-" Don sputtered, his complexion deepening by the second.

"Do you know who is in charge here, Draper?" Roger growled. His tone was both cold and ravenous. "Did you think that because Cooper made you partner while I was in the hospital that you could keep doing things without running them by me?"

Don didn't respond; he couldn't. His face was approaching the purple-red hue of a pomegranate. His mouth was dry. Something between a choke and a sob escaped from Don's constricted throat.

With a final twist of Don's tie, a momentary touching of Roger's teeth to Don's forehead, Roger unhanded him, righted himself, sent the younger man crashing onto his desk.

Don's face hit the wooden surface hard. Blood roared in his ears and the neural pathways in the background of his consciousness popped like live wires as oxygen flooded his system. He waited a good several seconds to lift his head off the desk, and his vision turned spotty with the movement even so.

Roger was standing as before, silent, haughty, but his breathing was labored, his cheeks flushed. His eyes meet Don's drowsy ones with the same unruffled, smoldering dominance as before. There was no shame in them.

Don blinked slowly, swallowed thickly, tried to regain his bearings. He could feel Roger's gaze penetrating his soul. He felt naked and wished desperately to free himself from the older man's hold, despising the intimacy, but in his humiliated delirium he could do little but let Roger stare into him.

Despite Donald's discomfort, he felt pressure building in the pit of his stomach. God, he thought. Of all the things to react to. He had to act.

Don lifted himself up off his desk, stepped towards Roger and towered like a fortress over him. "Will that be all, Roger?" Don responded, his voice level, threatening, infuriating to Roger.

To Don's surprise, Roger appeared to acquiesce to the implicit order. He stepped backwards, dusted off his blue-grey suit coat, and made for the door at a leisurely pace. When he reached the door he leaned his sinewy frame out the door. Don could hear him saying, "Janie, sweetheart, you can take your lunch break. I'll keep an eye on Mr. Draper for an hour or so."

The shuffling of Jane's belongings coupled with the steady beat of Roger's returning footsteps made Don's blood run cold. What was Roger going to do to him?

"Roger," he started. "This is ridiculous."

The older man sauntered up to Don and stood before him between his splayed legs. He put one hand in his pocket and with the other he grazed Donald's cheek, ran his thumb along the man's lower lip. Don grunted.

"Rog-" Don began, but he quieted when Roger began to move his fingers upward across Don's cheekbones and into his gelled black hair. The strands resisted at first, but bent under the warm persistence of Roger's hands. With the palm of his hand Roger tilted Don's forehead back and looked down upon him in a way that Don found both humiliating and slightly erotic. Okay, really erotic. He could hardly keep his breathing quiet, and he wondered if Roger could feel the persistent thump of his hammering pulse.

"Get down," ordered Roger, yanking Don forward until he was forced out of his chair and onto his knees.

Roger unbuckled his belt as assertively as if Don were a twenty-one year-old secretary-

Oh, thought Don. That's what he wants me to do.

He opened his mouth to scoff only for Roger to grab his jaw with one hand and direct him into the action. Don was infuriated, humiliated. For the second time that hour Roger was suffocating him. It felt like a fraternity hazing gone wrong...and yet, Don was strangely aroused. He felt the tightness of his business pants against his growing erection.

Getting hate-mouth-fucked by Roger Sterling was humiliating. But getting hard from it? That was mortifying.

Roger pulled his dick out of Don's mouth, leaving his protégée gasping gratefully for air but feeling suddenly unfulfilled.

"I see you enjoyed that," Roger scoffed, eyeing Don's bulge. "You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

He reached for Don's tie again, and this time Don was quick enough to stand as Roger yanked him upwards, avoiding suffocation but inviting further humiliation by letting Roger drag him around on a leash. The older man bent Don over his own desk and yanked his underwear and his slacks off in one rough motion.

The right side of Don's face was pressed hard against the dark wood surface of his desk. Between him and the edge of the desk were some pens, a few sheets of loose-leaf paper, and an elegant glass paperweight through which he could see the distorted image of his office. He groaned as Roger pushed his hard cock into him.

"What's wrong, Draper? Too big for you?"

That almost pushed him over the edge. Something about Roger's callousness was more erotic to Don than anything he'd experienced in his life. Roger pulled Don's arms to his sides and used his own body weight to pin them there. His body was flush against Don's. He pulled out slowly, feeling Don's muscular body quiver beneath him. He had no choice but to pull out slowly; Don's ass was tight. Nonetheless, in his return he railed himself into Don, causing the man to cry out.

"Did I say you could speak?" asked Roger.

Don knew at this point that Roger would take nothing less than total submission. "N- no," he gulped. "I'm sorry."

At this point Don was, to his dismay, aching for Roger to fuck him senseless and free him from the need building inside his body.

"Now," said Roger, running his hands through the hair of his submissive, "Do you want to go back out there and keep working with that hard-on on display for everyone, or do you want me to take care of you?"

"Fuck you," spat Don.

"Tell me what you want, Draper, or we could be here all night. You want me to pull out?" Roger growled, attempting to pull away and earning something akin to a squeak from Don. He pressed his body against Don's back and whispered in his ear, his voice low. "Tell me."

The muscles in Don's body rippled as he bit back his pride. He was so close already and nothing he did now would do anything but deny him pleasure. He steeled himself.

"Fine," Don said. "Fuck me."

Roger chuckled and began to thrust into Don faster and faster until the younger man felt as though he were on the verge of explosion. He had never been so turned on in his life. Each time Roger slammed into him, waves of euphoria flooded his body. Harder, he found himself thinking, and like a silent prayer it was answered by Roger. Roger wove his left hand's fingers into Don's hair and used the other to support himself as he increased the speed and force of his thrusts, until his associate was a quivering mess beneath him. The paperweight dominating Don's field of vision grew transparent, multiplied, blurred as his eyes grew unfocused and his consciousness shifted into oblivion.

With one final entry Roger came inside his subordinate. The sensation sent shockwaves through Don's body and before he knew it he was coming too, his body jerking for a moment before going limp beneath Roger.

Roger pulled out, straightened up, buckled his pants, smoothed down his hair. He was remarkably composed compared to Don, who pushed himself into a standing position and leaned back against the desk on shaky knees.

Roger looked at him playfully and dropped to his knees, infinitely more graceful in doing so than Don, and put his mouth on Don's cock. He ran his tongue down the already overstimulated organ, lapping up the younger man's semen and causing a few aftershocks, the results of which he swallowed eagerly. With a pop he removed his mouth from the head of Don's penis and stood up, observed himself in the mirror, and strolled towards the door.

"You might want to get yourself cleaned up before your 6:00," said Roger chastisingly with a look back at him before strolling out and closing the door behind him.

"Mr. Draper has asked not to be disturbed for another 30 minutes," Don heard Roger saying to his secretary. "He's making some important calls for me."

Don slid down into his chair, still trembling. Yeah, he mused. For you.


End file.
